


Yield

by Gemmiel



Series: Road Signs [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel's True Form, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Grace Sex, M/M, PWP, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 17:06:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmiel/pseuds/Gemmiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two weeks since Dean and Cas explored "angel sex." Clearly they're overdue for further experimentation...</p><p>Sequel to my story "Merge."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yield

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, no particular season on this one. I am thinking of turning this into a little series called "Road Signs," but I don't know if another story in this 'verse will come to me or not. We shall see, I suppose.

He’s sprawled out in bed in the darkness, in yet another generic motel, this one with moons and stars on the wallpaper and badly painted nighttime landscapes on the walls. The Blue Moon, it’s called, and it’s every bit as classy as the usual Winchester hangout.

But Dean doesn’t care about class, not really. Sure, he supposes it’d be kind of fun to stay in one of those five-star joints. A soft mattress, decent water pressure, and a mint on the pillow would be nice for a change. But he’s kinda used to motels that are right off the main road, with trucks rumbling past all night long, their headlights flashing through the room. He’s accustomed to the occasional burst of rowdy laughter and conversation right outside his room, the rattle of the ice machine, the racket a poorly maintained heating unit makes when it starts up. He isn’t sure he could sleep in a Hilton or a Marriott. Too damn peaceful.

Sam’s gone again, off with another pretty girl he met. The two of them had just wiped out a nest of vampires, and they'd gone to a bar to have a celebratory beer, but this girl had approached them five minutes after they'd walked into the bar, and zeroed in on Sam. She was gorgeous, with nice perky boobs and dark hair that fell in a shining curtain to her butt, and Sam hadn't seemed inclined to say no. He'd offered Dean an apologetic smile, and Dean had waved him away with a grin. He figures he won't see Sam till morning.

Sam’s getting a lot of action lately, but Dean isn’t jealous about it, not really. Truth be told, he’d hardly noticed the pretty brunette until she walked right up to their table. It’s weird, because he used to habitually take note of every girl in any room he entered. But lately...

Well, the truth is that he’s pretty much been ruined for human-style sex.

He stretches sleepily, thinking about the night Castiel showed him what “angel sex” was like. Although it wasn't sex, not really. What he and Cas did together, merging Cas' grace with his soul, was so much more than sex. It was intimate and sensual and ecstatic and… well, way beyond his ability to describe. Fan-fucking-tastic, that’s the only word he’s got, and it’s not nearly enough.

Unfortunately, since that night two weeks ago, Cas hasn’t been around. Dean knows he’s busy with stuff in Heaven, and Cas tends to come and go as he pleases anyway. Cas isn’t bound to mortal men and their stupid trivial problems. He does what he wants, when he wants, and Dean is trying really, really hard not to take his absence as some kind of rejection.

But it feels an awful lot like the way he’s always treated women. A night of shared pleasure, a quick, awkward goodbye, and then… he never sees them again.

He _wants_ to see Cas again, damn it. Cas is his best friend. Hell, if he's going to be totally honest with himself, Cas is more than just his friend.

He scowls, annoyed by his own insecurities, and throws his arm over his face, trying to block out the lights from the parking lot. Of _course_ Cas will show up again. He always does. It probably never even occurred to him that disappearing for a while might kind of freak out Dean. 

Not that he’s really freaked out, anyway. What he and Cas did was just sort of… experimental. Cas was horny, longing for the grace-mingling thing that angels do, and Dean was trying to help him out, that’s all. It’s not like Cas put a ring on his finger or anything. And if Cas never wants to share his grace with Dean again, that’s perfectly all right with him. Really. 

Admittedly, he’s a little worried he’ll never want to have sex—human-style sex—again. But that’s not really something he can blame Cas for, is it? It's not Cas' fault that angel sex is so much _better_ than human sex.

He stretches again, shifting against the mattress, because he has the weird feeling that something is prodding at him. _Bedbugs?_ he wonders with a little revulsion, but then realizes it isn’t something poking at his skin, but probing gently inside him. He becomes aware that a gentle mist has been eddying inside him for a little while, but in his drowsy, half-asleep state, he hadn’t quite noticed.

He knows that sensation. He'll never forget it.

“Cas?” he says into the darkness.

There’s no answer. No verbal answer, anyway. But somehow the mist inside him seems to be asking a question. He smiles a little, knowing that Cas is asking permission.

“Yeah, Cas. Sure. Come on in.” 

The mist eddies inside him more strongly, warm and sweet and tender, and he gives himself up to it, closing his eyes and relaxing into the mattress. He isn’t sure where Cas is, if he’s in the room with Dean or a million miles away. He still doesn’t know a damn thing about how angel sex works. All he knows is that he’s really, really glad to hear from the angel again.

“Cas,” he mutters into the empty room. “Where you been, buddy? I missed you.”

There’s a glow of warmth inside him, and he knows Cas is saying _I missed you too._ He can feel Cas filling him with heat, and it feels good. So very good. Cas isn't being as slow and methodical about it as he was last time, and Dean twitches and moans softly in the darkness, suddenly very glad that Sam isn’t there. He totally lost control last time, yelled his goddamn head off, and if he's gonna turn into a screamer every time he's with Cas, he doesn’t want Sam within ten miles of them.

The feeling of connection grows more powerful, and he yields to it, letting himself open fully to Cas. It’s easier than last time, and he isn’t sure if that’s because they’ve done this once before, or because he’s sleepy and relaxed. Either way, he surrenders himself totally, and doesn’t try to fill Cas in return. Tonight, he’s perfectly willing to be the bottom. He can feel Cas' grace filling all those dark corners of his soul, chasing away the shadows with light, and he groans.

“Cas. _Castiel._ Where are you, dude? I want to…” Open and exposed though he is, he nevertheless stammers over the words, but manages to go on anyway. “I want to put my arms around you.”

He is aware of something kind of materializing next to him, but the mattress doesn’t dip the way it should beneath Cas' weight. Something wraps around him, something soft and warm, and he turns his face, burrowing into it. He expects the rough fabric of Cas’ trenchcoat, or possibly the warmth of his bare chest, but instead he feels…

Well, he’s not sure _what_ he feels. It makes his skin tingle, makes all the hair on his arms stand up. It’s warm, but not the way a human body is. It feels more like the warmth of a spring day, like the morning sun beating down on his face. It’s comforting and pleasant, and yet there’s a certain electricity to it too.

He puts his arms around it, holding it, and there’s a happy buzz of response. _Cas,_ he thinks murkily. _This is Castiel._

Automatically, he opens his eyes, but it’s dark. Darker than it should be, really; all the light from the parking lot seems to have blinked out, leaving the room shrouded in pitch blackness, and he can’t see a damn thing. His arms are around Cas, but Cas isn’t…

Well, he’s not human.

Of course, Cas _isn’t_ human, not really. He occupies a human vessel—one Jimmy Novak, a very pretty guy who’s long since gone on to Heaven, leaving Cas alone in his body—but Cas himself is a seraph. Seraph, Dean knows from the research he’s done on the subject, means “burning one,” and seraphim really do burn, in a manner of speaking. At least it isn’t safe for a human to look at one. 

He’s known Cas for years, but he still has no idea what the angel truly looks like. All he knows is what he’s read, which is that seraphim have six wings (he’s pretty sure Cas only has two, no matter what the books say), and that they are supposedly composed of fire, and, Thomas Aquinas wrote, “inextinguishable light.” 

He can feel warmth radiating from the whatever-it-is he holds in his arms, and he understands. Cas has come to him, not in his human vessel, but in his own form.

“This is the real you,” he whispers, nuzzling into the angel. 

He can sense Cas’ feeling of assent. He gets why Cas isn’t talking now. Cas tried to talk to him twice with his true voice, and both times it went… badly. Painfully. Like cover-his-ears-and-roll-on-the-floor painful. Naturally Cas isn’t going to risk that again. Dean also knows he can’t reach over and flip on the light to assuage his curiosity, because just a glimpse of Cas’ true form can burn out people’s eyeballs. Whatever Cas looks like, he’s too bright, too glorious, too otherworldly, for humans to bear.

Dean doesn't let that scare him, because he knows Cas won't let him be hurt, that Cas has somehow dimmed his radiance so that Dean won't be injured or killed by it. He's not sure why Cas has shed his human skin for the night, but he guesses Cas wants Dean to know the real him, as much as any human can. The thought makes Dean's throat tighten a bit. He's been worried that Cas wasn't all that moved by what they did together, that it didn't matter to him as much as it did to Dean. But now he realizes it must have made a big impression on the angel, because Cas has never wanted Dean to know what he really is until now.

Somehow Cas is both there and not-there, which is a little weird. But the sense of warmth and electricity brushes against his cheek, confirming that Cas _is_ there, as much as a multidimensional wavelength or whatever he is can be.

He presses closer to Cas, but promptly realizes that his clothes—an old Crosby, Stills and Nash t-shirt and sweatpants—are getting in the way of full skin-to-skin contact. Well, skin-to-whatever-the-fuck-Cas-is contact. He wants to feel that warmth all over his body, wants it more than he's ever wanted anything. He mutters an obscenity and starts tearing at his own clothing, but Cas seems to figure out what he wants, because his clothes promptly disappear.

He’s totally naked, and he thinks wryly that Cas has something to learn about seduction, about strip teases, about taking it slow. Maybe Dean’ll teach him, one of these days. But right now he’s happy enough to be naked. He can still feel Cas inside him, moving through him, surrounding him, and it feels incredible. But he’s surprised to discover he’s also having a very physical reaction. This time, his body is responding just as quickly as his mind.

He’s hard as granite, so hard it hurts.

Driven by instinct, he presses up against Cas’ warmth. It feels incredible, and after two weeks of longing for Cas, of obsessing about what they did together, of fantasizing endlessly about it, he doesn't have a whole hell of a lot of self-control left. Last time they were together, he mostly kept his hands to himself, but this time, he discovers he craves physical release just as intensely as spiritual release. Two weeks of abstinence have made him horny as hell, and his first hesitant movements quickly morph into urgent rutting. 

He can feel Cas surrounding him, physically as well as mentally, and it feels awesome. Dean isn’t quite sure if Cas is holding his dick in a hand—does his true body even _have_ hands?—or if he’s just wrapped himself around Dean somehow. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. The heat, and the electricity, and the intimacy of it—

Well, _shit._

Warmth strokes all up and down the shaft of his cock, cradling his balls, stroking the swollen head, and he hears himself moaning. Something probes at the head of his cock, where he’s already leaking precome profusely, and then somehow a little tendril of energy slides down _inside_ it, deep inside, and gently caresses him there, where he's impossibly sensitive. Dean yowls with surprise and pleasure at the unexpected exploration, and his cock twitches violently, spilling out a hot rush of precome. 

Cas is exploring his ass too, a tendril sliding between his cheeks, stroking his tight opening, and then entering him. Dean jerks helplessly as the heat glides into his body, filling him. It caresses him from inside, finding his prostate with unerring accuracy and brushing energy over it in gentle but relentless waves. 

More precome gushes from him, and he clutches desperately at Cas' insubstantial form, his cries rising in pitch and volume, lifting to frantic wails of need. Ordinarily he’d be embarrassed by the sounds coming out of his mouth, but Cas is doing things to him no one has ever done before, things no one else _could_ do to him, penetrating him, filling him, and it’s so… damn… _good…_

And then Cas' grace presses further into his mind and soul, driving hard and deep, and Dean yields completely, letting Cas fill him in every way possible, utterly overcome by it all. The spiritual and the physical stimulation combine to create the perfect storm, and a long, tremendous wave of rapture bursts through him. He writhes, helpless, as he comes in hot spasms, as his mind explodes in ecstasy, as his soul merges with Cas' grace. He can feel Cas sharing his pleasure as if it were his own, reveling in it, and that makes it even better.

At last the incredible sensations fade away, and he falls back against the mattress, gasping, sobbing. There are tears streaking his cheeks, and he doesn’t know why he should be crying, except maybe that last explosion was more than any human could take without blowing a circuit or two. The warmth and buzzing electricity withdraws gently and wraps around him, cradling him in a loving embrace. He can feel concern radiating toward him.

“I’m okay,” he mutters, rubbing his face against the warmth. “I’m fine, Cas. It was just a little, you know… overwhelming.”

He feels amused agreement. Cas, he interprets, found it overwhelming too. 

Exhaustion is already beginning to weaken his muscles and drag at his eyelids, and he clings to Cas like a child. “Don’t leave me, Cas,” he mumbles sleepily. “I know you can’t stick around forever, but… just for a little while? Please?”

He thinks he sounds kind of pathetic, kind of needy, but Cas doesn’t seem to mind. The warmth settles around him like a blanket, holding him close, and Dean begins to drift off in the angel's embrace, warm and content. Half-asleep, he utters blurry words he'd never say while fully conscious.

"Don't go 'way that long again, Cas," he mumbles. "I need you."

The warmth wraps around him more tightly than before, and even though Cas doesn't actually speak, Dean has no trouble understanding what the angel is telling him.

_I need you too, Dean._


End file.
